Sunday Morning Musings (Tossed Salads & Scrambled Eggs)

The waitress bantered about serious matters with the gray-haired gentleman in the next restaurant booth. He didn’t care that Bama won the NCAAFBC–only that his beloved Auburn Tigers, won the Iron Bowl. The aforementioned Tigers could lose every game, for all he cared, as long as they defeated Alabama in the Iron Bowl.

Second breakfast at a restaurant new to us. Hate to sound like a perpetual pessimist, but what was going to go wrong and ruin this new hangout? The previous favorite, closed after the Holidays. Nothing ever seemed to thrive at that location.

Would the bill be figured wrong? Would the wait staff ignore us? What about pancakes? Could they deal with someone that didn’t like syrup and butter; preferred fruit toppings–especially strawberries. Would the bacon be the right thickness? Cooked to the verge of crispness?

Perhaps it was my due to my OCD tendencies that I listened at all?  The soundtrack of my life (greatest hits of the early seventies) played overhead. ELO, America, Eagles–thank goodness the anxieties from the seventies, were long gone.

It freaked people out when I recalled things from previous decades. “What happened to your gold ’88 Dodge pickup? Remember when it wouldn’t start in front of the Venture store? I pulled the air cleaner, freed the stuck choke butterfly, and it started right away. It as was cold then, as it is now.”

Fred didn’t remember. What were we doing in that old college dorm picture?  My college friend didn’t know and thought the question odd.  Nobody remembered such things.  Details such as these weren’t important to most people.  They were best left alone.

There have been some strange TV theme songs.  Perhaps, the Twilight Zone theme was one of the weirdest.  It did, however, seem to fit.  Most people weren’t old enough to remember the theme from Peter Gunn.  It was similar to the Twilight Zone theme–in that, it was bold, brassy, and to the point.  “Tossed Salad & Scrambled Eggs”–the Frasier theme, may have made a point–most of which escaped me.

 

 

Black Friday & Anti-Locavorianism

Himalayan bath oil… New Mexican firewood… Contemptuousness for all things local.

Acceptability achieved for brief awkward moments when narrow confines of passions intertwined.  In ancient times, called establishing commonality.

Same actors, same roles, encore performances.  No conversation topics off limits.  Everyone knew where they fit on the political, social spectrum–no boundaries were crossed.  What would have been the point?

Bargains perused, for participants in post-holiday shopping frenzy.

After a satisfying breakfast together, content to be left behind.

 

Zero For Three

Sunday morning breakfast has been a tradition for as long as we’ve been a couple.

Not that chain restaurants aren’t good in their own rights. When the same entrees become old and tired, it’s time to find something new.

Last Sunday, we drove by two local, diner-type restaurants–they were both closed. Back to good old Cracker Barrel for usual fare.

Today, an old favorite, known for comfort food, let me down. Formerly, they had breakfast buffets on weekends. They were open, and we were the only, early morning diners.

It seems in the last nine years, due to the economy, the Sunday breakfast buffet was no more. They still were open with a lunch buffet on weekdays.

The quest continues for a mom-and-pop local breakfast restaurant–within a 20 mile radius.  Food, prepared with love–because love conquers all.

Pay Attention

Pay attention to your surroundings.  How many times have we heard that?

I see in front of me–a large container of dietary fiber supplement, “Joy” brand ice cream, waffle cones, a toaster–sans toast, and the bare side of my refrigerator.

Bare, because there are no little ones around; consequently, no pictures.

Across the street is parked a truck from a popular, nationwide, lawn-care chain.  That has the street narrowed to one lane.

The refuse collection service has yet to run this morning.  The trash bins are still lined up in neat rows next to mailboxes.

Since you’re here, let’s talk about breakfast.  My omelet turned out just perfect.  I try not to eat eggs too often-the cholesterol thing, you know.  The dark pumpernickel toast smeared with blackberry jam was delicious.

Off to run some needed errands before it gets too hot.  There could be an ice cream cone in my future?

What Day Was It?

Sunday?  Saturday?

No, it was Friday

Friday–New Years Day

Formica, vinyl

Friendly waitress

With blonde up-do

“All I Need Is a Miracle”

Greatest hits of the eighties

Typical chain dining fare

Nobody out this morning

Unwelcomed rain came again

“Your collar is messed up”

“Thanks Dear–that’s because

it has a crease where there’s

not supposed to be one”

Too much information

Menu changed again

Not for the better

Prices went up to match

Missed my hometown diner

Welcome to 2016!

 

 

FLYING CLOSE TO THE SUN

the sun

Searching for my kryptonite on this early Sunday morning; more rain is coming–after a week of the same.  My two dogs are sticking close by my side.  Their disappointed stares pierce my heart.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.  The sky is angry gray.  Ecstatic patio frogs croak with delight.  At least the grass and plants will be happy.

My morning started immersed in European gastronomy at the local IHOP–starting with French toast.  There’s nothing much in the newspaper–except for disaster anniversaries.  Five years since the Macondo Gulf oil well explosion.  Twenty years since the Oklahoma City federal building was bombed.

Who in the “H-E double hockey sticks” really cares whether media darling, Kylie Jenner’s hair is pink, blue, or green?

Negative self-esteem used to be the perceived most important problem among children.  What in the name of self-indulgence is up with “Selfie Sticks?”  Why take pictures of other things?  It’s no wonder there are so many narcissists.

More lightning flashes.  The electric lights are flickering.  How many narcissists does it take to change a light bulb?  I don’t care–as long as I’m not doing it.

The rain is here.  I must tiptoe, so as not to run afoul of shape-shifting social mores, as defined by social media.  There wasn’t a visible sunrise–wishing for a peaceful sunset.

–Image, http://www.science.nasa,gov